Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  Watching her, the peach fades, replaced with white and lace, and I imagine her walking toward me. Yeah, according to stereotypes women are supposed to be the ones who fantasize about weddings . . . but I’m fine being a romantic at heart. Maybe that’s why I’m so good at being the Love Whisperer. In fact, that makes me more than fine with being romantic, I’m damn proud of it.

  During the whole ceremony, I know that Kat’s mom and her man say things, but my eyes never leave Kat, even after Jessie catches me staring and smirks, elbowing her little sister.

  At the reception, as soon as I can I have Kat in my arms on the dance floor, swaying to a slow song from back in the day. I’m not downing it, hell, I’ve played a little Vanessa Williams on The Love Whisperer from time to time myself

  “You know . . . you’re the most beautiful woman in the room,” I tell her as we move to the music.

  “Thank you,” Kat replies. “Although you should occasionally blink. It’ll help with those love goggles you’ve got on.”

  I laugh lightly, and pull her in tight, lowering my voice intentionally, adding a little growl of gravel to the velvety smoothness so that it vibrates against her ear. “And that dress is something else. Makes me wonder what you’ve got on underneath it.”

  Kat casually shimmies in my arms, winking. “Is that a question? Remember that red set with the cami and boy shorts?”

  My eyes glaze over as I think of that special set. Sure, we’ve bought other, sexier sets together, but that first set we played together with, the way I’d slipped the strap off her honeyed skin with my teeth . . . it’s special. My cock thickens in my pants, and I nod softly.

  Kat sees I’m in la-la land and chuckles. “Well, this dress is way too strappy and low-cut for that . . . or any bra at all. But those boy shorts, the ones you love because they show the bottom curve on the outside of my cheeks and are so sheer you can see every bit of my pussy? I’ve got on those . . . and nothing else.”

  “Fuck, Kitty Kat,” I groan, pulling her closer. “Every damn day, you know just how to drive me wild. Your mom and Bob better cut the damn cake or I’m sneaking you out of here early for another peek and nibble of that delectable ass.”

  “Well, I suppose you could have some frosting . . . before your dessert,” she purrs. “But I’m thinking the same thing as you.”

  Kat

  “So everyone, that wraps up another evening. I’d like to thank everyone for joining me, Derrick King, for The Love Whisperer. I’ll be taking a few days off, but don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of stuff recorded for you. Tomorrow’s show is a special episode on weddings: the good, the bad, the Bridezillas. So, until I’m back, love yourself and each other. Goodnight.”

  The song starts, and I reach over, flicking off my radio and putting my stuff away. The office is almost totally deserted, but that’s fine, I enjoy having these hours with just Derrick in my ear as I do my work. I guess going two for two on number one rated apps across multiple platforms and another expected hit with our new game gets me a few extra benefits, and one of them is I get to pick my own hours now . . . except for meetings.

  I’m going to keep riding this for a while longer. I’m motivated, and taking a risk in doing another solo app after we wrap the game, but that’s okay. A simple, easy to use standalone program that helps you lockdown your devices and prevent spyware is something that’s been in the PC market for a while, but keeps being ignored in the mobile market. No longer, not when I’m done.

  It’s a high-profile project because while the inspiration came from our incident, the potential implementations could be amazing in securing governmental agency phones from tapping. I told Derrick that we could be the first beta-testers because since the big deal with Susannah, we haven’t been as bold in phone conversations or FaceTime. We save our real dirty talk for the bedroom when it’s just the two of us, with the phones in the other room. Still, we both miss the little thrill that comes from showing off for each other.

  Getting behind the wheel of my car, I catch the end of the outro music for The Love Whisperer, then change the channel. The new show format has been awesome, simpler and more conversational with just Derrick. He’s still got a producer, I talked with her once when I called in, but they decided to skip the co-host role and now the on-air is all Derrick.

  People seem even more responsive now that they know he’s happily in a relationship. It was rocky there at first when he lost the ‘available’ appeal, but people have come around, and he says it adds believability to his advice, even though he’s always been pretty spot-on. According to Derrick, after the initial short-term dip, his ratings are stronger than ever. So much so that the bigwigs have been talking to him and Quincy about going the syndication route, and he even got invited to LA to be a guest panel member for some TV show. He hasn’t decided about either opportunity yet though, saying he’s happy with what he’s got at work and at home.

  I get home and change quickly, missing the sensation of having him here. We’ve both been working so hard the last few weeks, getting the programming just right on a difficult segment of coding, and Derrick’s been tied up with recording his extra shows so he can do some extra project that he’s been really secretive on. A few months ago, I would have been worried, distrustful . . . but that was then. Now, love and trust are together, and I’ve never doubted his intentions for a moment.

  “Besides,” I murmur as I quickly change clothes, “the good mornings and even better nights are that much sweeter when we spend every spare moment wrapped up in each other’s arms, whispering dirty things in each other’s ears.”

  I’m just slipping on my sexiest heels, not for height reasons but just because I know Derrick likes my legs in these, when he comes in from work. “Hey babe. Good show. Loved the caller who wanted advice on self toys.”

  Derrick comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, hugging me from behind. “Thanks,” he growls, nibbling at my ear and sending tingles down my spine. “Fuck, you’re so damn gorgeous, Kitty Kat. Those heels make me want to bend you over and lick down the line of your legs before flipping you onto your back and making them become ‘in the air’ shoes.

  I raise an eyebrow, moaning lightly as he licks at the curve of my earlobe and traces a single fingertip along my upper thigh. “Why aren’t we doing that, then? Let’s stay home, order in and change into something more . . . comfortable while you get a taste of my pussy and I get a sip of your cream. Then we can eat to regain our strength, and fuck again . . . all night long.”

  Derrick moans and kisses my neck again before releasing me and stepping back. “I wanted to do this differently, more . . . something, but I can’t wait anymore.”

  Reaching into his jacket, Derrick takes out a plain black jewelry box. It’s narrow, but I don’t care about the box . . . I care about the look in his eyes and the love in his heart as he opens the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. It’s not gaudy, it’s classic, a simple platinum band with a single square cut diamond in the middle. “Derrick . . ..”

  He takes my hand, kissing my knuckles softly. “Kat, you thought you didn’t deserve a fairytale, that it was rare. And while it’s true it is rare, you most definitely deserve the happy ever after and I hope that you’ll choose to spend it with me, as my wife.”

  There’s no other answer I can give, except a choked nod, and a small squeal of excitement. “Yes . . . with all my heart, yes.”

  Derrick slips the ring on my finger before sweeping me up in his arms, spinning me around. “That’s my Kitty Kat. Thank you for giving me my dream.”

  I hug him tightly, kissing his lips hard. “No . . . thank you. Thank you for showing me that I didn’t need a fairy tale fantasy, what I needed was real love from a real man. After that, the dream will happen on it’s on.”

  Our kiss deepens, my silky dress letting me slide down Derrick’s body as our joy quickly mixes with intense heat. I can feel his cock already hardening for me, and my nipples are stiff and electric against the slick fa
bric. Getting on my knees, I look up at him. “Now, I think I want to start our celebration. You can call the delivery guy while I have a suck of your big-”

  “Don’t say it . . . unless you want me to be too distracted to order,” Derrick chuckles. “Mmm . . . sexy, smart, loving, mine, and oh so dirty in a good way. My Kitty Kat.”

  I reach for his waistband, undoing his belt while I grin. “I want General Tso’s chicken. And as for you being distracted . . . well, just think, after our food you can bend me over the couch and fuck me any way you want. But first I’m going to enjoy a taste of this amazing cock.”

  I draw the word out the way I always do for him, knowing that it’s driven him crazy since day one, still does today, and hopefully will for many more happy years of dirty talk.

  His cock pops free, and I look up at him. He grins down at me, telling me what he knows I want to hear. “Go on, Kitty Kat. Suck my cock down your pretty little throat like my naughty girl.”

  My mouth waters, and I immediately swallow him whole. Dirty? Maybe, but nothing could be better.

  We’ll have to call the family to tell them the news . . . later.

  Thank you for reading. Continue for the bonus read, Motorhead, Book 7 in the Irresistible Bachelor Series. However each book is a different couple and can be read on its own.

  Motorhead

  by Lauren Landish

  Jerk. Angry bastard. That’s how people describe me. Everyone in this small town knows to steer clear of me.

  Thing is, they don’t know me. They don’t know what I’ve seen, what I’ve done. So I’ve learned to put up a shield to protect both me and them. When everything gets to be too much, I escape on my beloved Harley, the wind in my face calming my soul.

  But my new neighbor hasn’t gotten the memo about me. She’s a walking, talking firecracker, and I can’t help but imagine what that feistiness is like in bed. She’s full of dangerous curves and a smart mouth that draws me to her like nothing I’ve ever felt.

  We couldn’t be more different. I’m a grumpy asshole and she’s a sassy princess, but somehow, she sees through me and our spark is undeniable.

  The question is… will we light up like pretty fireworks or a devastating explosion?

  I should warn her that’s she’s not safe with me, but I’m tempted to take her for a ride.

  A ride neither of us will ever forget.

  Chapter 1

  McKayla

  Looking up at the neon sign that dominates the sunset sky, I whistle softly. Only one thought goes through my mind. Ho-lee Shit! I can’t believe I did it! Well, we did it.

  I’m standing in front of the Triple B Salon, in awe of the magic that Brad and I have been able to work in such a short period of time. When we took over this place, it had been sitting empty for almost a decade. The problem was that nobody really knew what to do with a former drive-in hamburger restaurant that someone stuck on the county register of historic landmarks because John Wayne used to be part-owner. You can’t make a lot of changes to a place like that.

  Then there’s just the pure insanity of our idea. Most folks in the beauty industry flock to Hollywood, eager to work on celebrities and have their names in the rolling credits of a TV show. If you don’t go there, you want to make it in New York, where the celebrities are just as numerous, but you also have a possibility at fashion industry fame. Getting your scissors on the locks of a supermodel is a lifetime achievement for some stylists.

  Brad, my business partner and the funniest bitch I’ve ever known, and I both did that for years. We hooked up soon after he came to LA, our styles and personality just clicking fabulously. Brad mostly handled makeup, but he can snip a bang too. Meanwhile, I was the follicle genius, turning rat-nested, hungover A-list sluts into red carpet stunners. We worked the Hollywood scene doing movies, TV shows, awards shows, and more. I’ve had my fingers on more heads than a porn star gets her fingers around cocks. Name me a star who lives in Los Angeles, and I can probably tell you their hair care secrets—who’s got gray hair, who needs some extra highlighting, and whose hair isn’t even theirs. For quite a few years, I kept Hollywood’s secrets and dealt with their bullshit quite nicely.

  But last year, after a few things happened on a reality TV show that just left us feeling too creepy-crawly, the bug to settle and have something to call our own got its claws in us, and now, here we are. I was surprised when Brad agreed to come with me, actually. I thought that, coming from a rather hoity-toity East Coast background, he’d found heaven in Los Angeles. But here we are.

  After some research, we couldn’t really decide, so fate intervened. After a call from my friend Emily, who ironically triggered my sudden urge to get the fuck out of the California, we ran away from LA to Great Falls, a picturesque little town she’d told me about. It was where she and her now fiancé, Hayden, went the weekend after he asked her to marry him, and it’s just north of where she lives now. It’s a beautiful town, with a length of Main Street straight out of the 1950s, a brand-new luxury resort associated with the nearby ski area, and a vibrant arts scene that’s been famous since Norman Rockwell was painting.

  Ironically, we won’t be giving up all of our Hollywood connections. The state has been doing a lot to try and get filmmakers to bring production to the state, and not just cable dramas or B-movie action flicks. There’s been a ton of movies filmed out there over the past few years. Chances are, if you’ve seen a small town scene that was going for that American sense of nostalgia over the past few years, it was filmed somewhere in or around Great Falls. It’s enough to give some people what my grandmother liked to call ‘airs’. Still, there’s a certain small town charm to Great Falls, and most people actually say hello to other locals they pass.

  Talk about a change of pace! And that’s why Brad and I chose this storefront. Sure, there were a ton of challenges with the historic landmark issue, but it’s right in the middle of the main road leading up to the resort, where we can serve both the upper-crust tourists and the middle-class townies. And the landlord’s been a sweet man, who told us, “As long as the county landmark people don’t shit themselves, you’re free to do whatever you want to fancy up the place.”

  When the landlord said that, I was a little terrified about what Brad would do. After all, I’ve seen some of his date photos. But I shouldn’t have worried. Brad’s always been artistic, even before he started focusing on makeup, and I have to admit that the result of his interior design vision is spectacular.

  From the street, the big sign streetside has only been modified. The classic cowboy that has been there for fifty years now holds a pair of scissors instead of a Winchester, and the neon underneath reads Triple B Salon instead of Duke’s Drive In. We’ve kept the old-fashioned pull-in spaces as parking, while the kitchen and sit-down diner area were gutted. Three black- and white-striped awnings catch your eye, drawing your eyes through the huge plate-glass windows to see the crisp white salon chairs and bubblegum-pink walls. The pink was my only demand . . . well, request, because demanding things with Brad is a surefire way to start a riot. And he fights dirty, too. He’s not above taking a can of Aqua Net and using it like the LAPD uses pepper spray.

  So pink had to be a suggestion. But it’s my current favorite color, and the girliness of it contrasts perfectly with Brad’s preppier style, giving the impression of chic extravagance. Besides, it gives the whole thing a sort of throwback vibe too. Clear out the salon chairs, and I could see someone doing a classic sock hop instead. We’re just missing a baby-blue Chevy Bel-Air parked out front. I thought about it, but Brad and I both decided we weren’t that throwback.

  With a happy sigh, I look up and down the street for Brad, who was supposed to meet me here ten minutes ago. My best guess is that he’s still working on making his eyebrows perfect. The man’s got one flaw to him and that’s eyebrows that would make Hepburn herself go running for a razor. But we’ve got to do our last walk-through to be ready for the grand opening this weekend. Getting the busines
s license was harder than dealing with the historic landmark people. And we’ve still got some work to do, fucked up eyebrows or no fucked up eyebrows. It’s why I’m dressed down right now in jeans and a t-shirt instead of my normal fabulousness. I’ve got fucking work to do.

  As I scan, I spot a beautiful motorcycle parked outside the mechanic shop across the street. I know jack shit about bikes, but I know a work of art when I see one and have a momentary daydream about riding down the highway with that bad boy humming between my legs. Actually, the idea of any bad boy humming between my legs has me smirking a little. It’s been too long since that’s been a reality for me unless you count my favorite vibrator. Still, riding a bike like that, holding onto a warm hunk while the vibrations send ripples through my pussy, and wrapping my arms around his six-pack abs . . . sign me up!

  My fantasy is cut short when I hear a little ahem behind me. Turning, I spot Brad, who looks like a walking fashion show, as always, with his slim khaki pants, plaid button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, and polka dot bowtie. And his eyebrows. Yep, I knew it. Freshly done behind his stylish bold black frames. “Glad to see you made it.”

  “Me? I wasn’t the one spacing out!” Brad says with a laugh. He catches sight of the bike across the street and whistles. “I’d love to ride that hog!”

  “The bike or the owner?” I ask, and Brad gives a smirk. “Gotcha. Doesn’t make a difference. You’ll just pick the hotter one.”

  “Damn right. So, honey, you ready for this? We’re T minus forty-eight hours till the grand opening. I almost can’t believe it! Who’d have thought we’d be out of Hollywood, in a little town, doing bridal hair and prom makeup again? Or more importantly, that we’d be so happy about it?”

  I look at him carefully, evaluating because that sounded a little tight. Brad’s always sarcastic, snarky, and hilarious, but that’s a bit over-the-top even for him. “You okay? We’ve been planning this and busting our asses for months and you’ve been a hundred percent with me the whole time. You having last-minute second thoughts?”